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Despite the sobs coming from him, Lando could still hear the faint thrumming of the celebration waiting outside his driver's room. McLaren had officially been confirmed as the 2025 Constructors' Champions, and the team was beyond excited despite the win being theirs for a while now. Along with that, Lando had placed third and was on the podium while Oscar secured fourth. They were great race results, but they did nothing to make Lando feel better.
He had seen the reactions already.
Many fans were calling him out for his decision, and he was facing enough backlash that he powered off his phone before he could fall too deep into it. That's not even mentioning what Oscar had said. His comments on the radio alone were enough to have Lando thinking back once the initial defense and adrenaline pumping through him subsided. Now, he wasn't sure what to think entirely. So, Lando did what he hated doing whenever he felt too emotional in the moment and too full of thoughts running through his mind without focus on any single one: he cried.
He escaped the team, the fans, and the press who wanted nothing more than to see him break down, and he went to his driver's room. He only managed to close the door and lock it before he sank to the floor with tears streaming down his face.
---
He couldn't stop them. The tears flowed as he scrubbed his skin free of them until it turned red. Why was it so hard to stop?
Another sob he couldn't stop tore itself from his throat, and Lando was struggling to breathe as the sobs escalated and hiccups started. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. He was being so pathetic and childish, just like they said he was.
Lando couldn't see properly; everything was just a little too blurry even in the dark of his room, and his face felt like it was stinging, probably from his race suit rubbing so harshly against his skin. He let his hands fall and wrap around his knees, curling into himself as he sat against the door.
The tears kept falling, and the sobs kept coming, and at some point, Lando stopped fighting it.
Should he be out there with the team celebrating? Yeah, probably.
Should he be finding Oscar and maybe apologizing for the race, giving him congrats on fourth, and flashing a smile in hopes they were still good? That sounded like something he should be doing.
Should he be crying his eyes out, sobbing into his knees, and blocking out the world as a million thoughts ran through his mind without a single one settling? No, it was pathetic.
But isn't that what they thought of him? That Lando was pathetic? That his skill as an F1 driver was questionable, considering his teammate was beating him in the championship battle despite having less experience, despite it only being his third year on the grid? That Lando was doomed to be second place at best after last year with Max and now with Oscar?
Lando didn't know how to block them out, how to pretend that there weren't people out there waiting for him to crumble while relishing in every crack of his that showed.
He needed to pull himself together. Trying (and failing) to take deep breaths in and out, Lando uncurled himself and wiped his tears again. It stung to wipe his eyes after scrubbing them raw only a little bit ago. He finally managed to find a rhythm to his breathing before the air caught in his lungs, and suddenly, Lando was coughing as tears sprang to his eyes once more.
He let his head fall back against the door as he started up his breathing pattern again.
In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight. Repeat.
Lando let himself get last in the calming, repetitive moments, working to shut off his mind if only to get himself calm.
Once he felt confident he could stand up, splash some water on his face, and flash a fake smile long enough until he was back at the hotel, Lando stood up on shaky legs filled with pins and needles. He powered on his phone, hoping no one had been trying to contact him.
Maybe they hadn't known he was missing.
A scoff passed his lips, eyes empty for a moment as the thought crossed his mind. He shook his head, willing it to leave as the bright phone screen blinded him in the dark.
Everything seemed fine, and Lando should have left it there, but he was always a little self-destructive. So, he found himself scrolling and setting himself up for failure.
Does Lando Deserve to Win?
Norris Destroys Piastri's Chances in Singapore
Lando Norris: Is He Championship Material?
Papaya Rules No More?
No Longer Hiding Favortism: Norris vs Piastri
Each article heading Lando read, the faster he felt himself falling into a spiral again. Breathing felt a little bit harder as several thoughts swarmed through his mind.
What if the team dropped him?
Is he screwing over Oscar's chances?
Did Lando deserve to win after his actions?
Did he think himself good enough to be a champion?
It scared him a little that last one. He already had an answer on the tip of his tongue before his mind caught up, and when it did, it brought Lando crashing down to reality because he had been so ready to answer 'no.'
And that--that lack of fight and fire and the certain dread that overcame him for a split second felt colder than any ice bath. Because honestly, Lando didn't know what he'd be without racing in his life, didn't know what he'd be without the fight for the championship fueling his efforts to be the best alongside his love for the sport. If he didn't want to fight--didn't have the fight--to win, then he wouldn't be a driver. He couldn't.
Lando found himself on the ground once again, his self-depricating spiral flashing thoughts of failure and disappointment. The tears started coming back in full force, muffled sobs joining them as Lando fell deeper and deeper into his misery.
At least he was alone.
Then, because Lando never quite had the best luck, there were some rapid knocks on his door followed by a familiar Australian accent softly saying, "Lando, you okay?"
Lando felt like ice as the realization that Oscar, who had a worse race than him, who should be the one between the two of them upset, was outside his door and aware that Lando was crying because Lando had been told by his friends and by his ex-girlfriends enough that he couldn't be quiet to save his life, and crying was no exception.
"Lando?" Oscar called again.
Lando hadn't said a word when Oscar first called out, and he couldn't bring himself to right now either, as his mind was still playing catch-up.
The doorknob rotated slightly, stopping from being fully turned. Lando distantly remembered locking it.
"Lando, I know you're in there. Just... please open the door." Oscar sounded so gentle and almost a little like he was pleading, and Lando was always susceptible to other people's kindness, sometimes a flaw and other times a strength.
He shuffled from his spot on the ground to standing up on his legs like a baby giraffe before finding his balance and walking slowly to the door. He stopped in front of it and hesitated.
"Lando, please... I just want to help."
Oscar's pleading was evident, and he also sounded a bit sad now, and Lando didn't like it. He never liked it when Oscar was sad or upset, often using his best stories and jokes to cheer the younger up the second the tiniest hint of a frown was visible.
He opened the door and let the light pour in. He tilted his head downwards as his eyes adjusted to the onslaught, blinking rapidly. There was only a second of silence, and nothing before Lando found himself pulled into a hug. Oscar's arms were wrapped tight around him, one resting on his back and the other resting on the back of his head. "I've got you, Lan."
Lan.
Oscar didn't do nicknames much with him. In fact, there's only been a couple of instances where the Australian has called him it, but him saying it now? Lando found himself falling before he registered jumping.
His sobs reached new levels as he grabbed onto Oscar like he'd disappear. Oscar worked to shuffle both of them into the room and out of the doorway where they were more likely to be heard and seen. Once the door was closed behind them, Oscar slid down the door, his hold on Lando never faltering as he pulled the Brit to his chest.
Lando let his head fall into the crook of Oscar's neck. Oscar tightened his grip ever so slightly as Lando got comfortable in the other's hold before beginning to trace shapes on Lando's back. His hand on the back of his head started brushing through Lando's curls, his fingertips soothingly scratching his scalp as he did so.
"I've got you, Lan. I'm not going anywhere," he whispered into Lando's ear.
Lando tightened his arms that were wrapped around the other in lieu of a verbal response.
For a while, it was almost nice in Lando's opinion.
He eventually sagged against the other, his arms loosening their hold ever so slightly. His sobs died down to small hiccups, to eventually nothing as he focused on breathing again.
"That's it, Lan. It's alright," Oscar continued, whispering little things. "You'll be alright. Focus on breathing."
He remembered his breathing pattern from earlier.
In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight. Repeat.
"Just like that," Oscar muttered.
His hands continued drawing shapes on his back and brushing through his hair. It was so soothing, and Lando questioned why he didn't just go to Oscar earlier.
But then he remembered the race.
"You aren't mad?" Lando asked, his voice hoarse and rough. His throat was dry, and he wanted water.
Oscar, ever the mind-reader Lando swore he was, held up his own water bottle. "Drink some water."
The cool liquid felt amazing on his throat, and Lando didn't realize how thirsty he was. He sat there drinking Oscar's water for a few seconds before he handed the water bottle back and looked at the other.
Oscar seemed rather calm, not mad, but maybe he was just controlling his facial expressions. Not everyone wore their hearts on their sleeves like Lando did, even if he didn't mean to.
"Not right now," Oscar eventually said. "I'm just worried about you right now."
Lando let his head drop down on Oscar's shoulder. He could overthink the other's response (a part of him wanted to), but he was so done with crying if he could help it, so he decided to focus on the latter part.
"You're worried about me?" He could hear his words dripping with doubt.
"Of course I am."
Lando looked up at the other, a little furrow forming between his eyebrows. "Why?"
Oscar just smiled at him with the softest smile Lando had ever seen the other wear. "Because it makes me upset when you're upset, Lan. It makes me want to be right here by your side, holding you, telling you it'll be alright, and giving you whatever you want to make you feel better again and see your smile."
"My smile?"
"Yes, your beautiful, energetic smile that lights up the world," Oscar told him, his eyes filled with a dangerously high amount of affection. Lando felt himself blush, but went back to clinging to Oscar to avoid saying anything to that.
Oscar only let out a little laugh at the action, immediately welcoming Lando's decision and going back to soothingly drawing shapes on his back and running his fingers through his curly hair. Unlike earlier, when the silence seemed to eat him alive and left his mind open to a whirlwind of thoughts, this silence was peaceful. Oscar's constant touch was grounding, and Lando enjoyed being able to feel the other's heat seeping into him.
"Can we stay like this, just for a little while longer?" Lando whispered into the crook of Oscar's neck.
"Of course, Lan."
---
What if he's already asleep?
Lando hesitated, his fist raised to knock on his teammate's door.
What was he doing?
After their impromptu cuddle session, where Lando made an absolute idiot of himself, Oscar just seemed to shrug it off like it never happened. They both had gone through the motions, and Lando forced himself to smile through the media questions targeted at his actions until he could escape. He thought going out for the night would help, and it did for about an hour. Then he got in his head and left before he could bring down anyone else's mood.
He thought sleeping it off would be a good idea then. Max had offered him a ride back and was planning on leaving early, so Lando should really be getting some sleep instead of standing outside Oscar's door at... what time was it? Lando pulled out his phone. 3:37. Fuck.
"What the fuck am I doing?" Lando whispered with a tinge of sleep-deprived disbelief that made him sound only a little psychotic with his wide eyes and sketchy stance.
The door opened in front of him in what had to be only like two seconds after he said that.
And god, Lando must be the only one doing terribly at trying to sleep because Oscar looked like he rolled out of bed from the best sleep he's had. Lando could see the pillow marks decorating his skin, and the bedhead fucked up his hair into... actually, Lando didn't know what, but it was fucked whatever it was.
"Lando? What are you doing here?" Oscar rubbed his eyes, still clearly half-asleep. It took him a few seconds, but his eyes seemed to focus, and a small frown appeared on his face.
"You alright, mate?" Lando bit the inside of his cheek. The answer was simple: no, he was not alright. He was tired but couldn't sleep, and he didn't even know why.
Instead, Lando opened his mouth and decided to say, "Yep! Everything's peachy!" He was such a fucking idiot sometimes.
Oscar's frown only grew, which was not what Lando intended to make happen, so he tried to backtrack. "Just can't sleep, ya know? Gonna go for a run."
Oscar looked behind him, and Lando went on his tiptoes for a moment to try and figure out what the Australian was looking at. "You're going for a run now? It's four in the morning?" Oscar looked so confused, bless him, and Lando almost just wanted time to stop because, really, Oscar was looking kind of adorable at the moment. His eyebrows were scrunched, a little frown playing at his lips still, and his eyes were just staring at Lando so sweetly.
He must be really tired to be thinking like this.
Oscar just looked at him as Lando stood there silently. Eventually, he glanced back again, Lando still unsure at what exactly, then looked back at Lando, glanced up, sighed, and then finally spoke. "Do you want to come in?" And didn't that just make Lando short-circuit so hard?
"Come inside?" he squeaked out. Oscar still looked a little unsure, but that spark of determination with an undertone of confidence lit up the longer Lando just stood there, flabbergasted.
"Yeah, you look like shit, mate." Lando huffed because even though he was sleep-deprived and may have felt like shit did not mean he looked like shit, thank you very much.
Oscar stepped aside, and Lando went in without another word. Oscar trailed behind him before going past to lie down on the bed. Lando watched as the younger driver got underneath the covers and then turned to Lando as he lifted them, a silent invitation. Lando accepted without a word.
When Lando's alarm went off, he scrambled for his phone. Once he turned it off, he let himself fall back into the warmth of the bed. "You have to get up, Lan," Oscar spoke into the back of his head. Lando let Oscar wrap his arms around Lando like they were before Lando's alarm ruined their peaceful atmosphere.
"Mmm, no," Lando mumbled, shoving his face into the pillow more. Max wouldn't leave him if he was just a little late. "Five more minutes." Oscar chuckled softly as his arms pulled Lando back against him, both of them drifting into sleep for a while longer.
---
It just became a thing, is how Lando could best describe it. Sometimes, it just got too much, and he would go find Oscar. Oscar would pull Lando in for a hug and let him cry or just be held. Most of the time, he'd draw shapes into Lando's back and whisper soft words of comfort, and other times, he would just be a solid presence for Lando that anchored him. It was just how it was, and on the rare occasion, Lando would find himself comforting Oscar in his own way.
As the days passed, Lando invited Oscar to a few more paddle matches, to a game of golf (never again, though, Oscar said), and even on a couple of errand runs where Lando wanted the presence of someone else instead of doing it himself. Oscar, in return, asked Lando to tag along with him sometimes on his own errands and even managed to convince Lando to play a game of chess (Lando refused to play with Oscar ever again). They just started hanging out more without really realizing it.
Carlos had actually been the one to point it out when he and Lando met up for golf. Oscar had dropped Lando off because it worked for both their schedules, and they had to talk about the newest episode of the show they started watching together. Because Oscar had gone back to Australia, they watched it separately, so they just agreed it was better for Oscar to drop Lando off so they could talk about it. Lando thought Carlos was just overthinking things and giving him shit because he may or may not have mentioned that Oscar looked hot one time last week.
Well, jokes on Carlos because that meant nothing.
Except a week later, when Oscar asked if Lando wanted to get dinner with him. Then maybe, Carlos might have been onto something, but admitting that felt like too big a blow to his pride, even in his head. (He told Carlos about it later that night and only got slightly annoyed when the Spaniard boasted about how he'd been right.)
And really, he should've been expecting it the following week when, during the driver's parade, he got a round of congratulations from what seemed like everyone because when had Carlos not shared all the gossip he knew with Charles? (And Lando knew it was Charles because no one but Charles could have made this news spread that fast. Everyone knew about it! Even some of the engineers had congratulated him!)
Really, if Carlos wasn't his best friend, he might have run him into the wall during qualifying. He even told Oscar as much. "Don't worry, I'll do it for you next week."